


'cause there we are again, when I loved you so.

by oH_cRaMiTY_iTs_aMiTY



Series: "But loving her was red..." [1]
Category: Booksmart (2019)
Genre: Based on a Taylor Swift Song, F/F, sorry about this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:34:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25095451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oH_cRaMiTY_iTs_aMiTY/pseuds/oH_cRaMiTY_iTs_aMiTY
Summary: "Running scared, I was there, I remember it all too well"...Perhaps it would be good if she saw someone, got some sort of medication, and cut up all the pictures in those frames.But she doesn’t want to.Because maybe her self-control isn’t willing to let go of all of those memories, like the two AM talks, or the movie nights where they’d build a fort out of that worn vinyl couch in the living room, with their blowup bed, their extra set of sheets and Hope’s lavender scented candles.She always scoffed when Hope insistently bought them.And maybe Amy buys them now too… Because she wants to still pretend like Hope’s around.Her old vintage jacket is buried in the back of their closet – rather, just hers now.But Amy sleeps in it every now and again, she doesn’t tell anyone, sometimes she’d roll it into a ball and hold it up to her chest.It comforts her.Perhaps because it still has the rich smell of Hope’s body spray, or the feeling ofHope’s arms around her when she buries her nose into the collar.But Amy doesn’t know what else to do.....Based off of "All Too Well" by Taylor Swift
Relationships: Amy/Hope (Booksmart)
Series: "But loving her was red..." [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1814581
Comments: 7
Kudos: 25





	'cause there we are again, when I loved you so.

**Author's Note:**

> i told myself i wouldn't write a sad one-shot of these two... but i swear to you... it just sort of happened.
> 
> like i just sneezed and this turned up... okay maybe it took like 8 hours of sneezing to pop up onto my screen... but... that wouldn't be healthy... anyway... i hate and love this so much.
> 
> (i used Diana's actual siblings, however i know literately nothing about either of them so don't crucify me if i get shit wrong. Just go with it. I only used a wiki article and just pulled their names and fabricated characters out of my ass.)
> 
> can you tell i've had my heart broken too?
> 
> (it becomes real when you listen to the song bro.)
> 
> (also... the whole red album screams amy/hope... just me? alright bye)

_I walked through the door with you, the air was cold  
But something 'bout it felt like home somehow  
And I left my scarf there at your sister's house  
And you've still got it in your drawer even now_

* * *

It’s a few days after their midterms, that they sit outside Hope’s sister’s driveway somewhere in upstate Maine.

Hope’s got the heater on full blast, and Amy can see her breath in hazy clouds every time she exhales into the cab of the car.

“Are you ready to meet my parents?” Hope asks her, and Amy nods.

It’s not like she hasn’t met them before, she has.

But the thing was, she wasn’t dating Hope back then, it was always in passing that they ran into each other, sometimes waving to each other at a grocery store, or at a school function.

Amy never knew much more about Hope other than what she thought of her before.

_Heartless, mostly._

But that’s changed, and they’re in college now, Hope’s at NYU and she’s in Columbia.

And here they were, parked in her sister’s driveway for Thanksgiving, the ground being covered with snow, which was a different sight altogether when Amy first saw it in New York.

They climb out of Hope’s Corolla, and make they’re way up to the front stoop, the porchlight on, and immediately Hope uses the brass knocker to bang against the maroon door.

Someone yells that it’s open, and Hope pushes the front door open with ease, Amy following suit behind her.

“It’s cold out there,” Hope laughs softly, face flushed pink with a blue scarf tightly wrapped over her mouth, muffling her voice.

“Well don’t just stand there!” A woman yells, bounding into the brown walled living room, hugging Hope tightly. She stood a few inches shorter, blue eyes instead of Hope’s hazel, but they shared the same dark auburn hair.

“Hey,” She turns to Amy, “Ma!”

“Don’t you scare her,” Hope murmurs, wrapping a protective arm around Amy’s shoulders, “She’s special.”

“She the one you’ve been bragging about?”

“Who?” Amy ponders, craning her face up to Hope, who stares at the woman.

“Sure is Sarah.”

The woman looks back to Amy, giving a large smile that almost makes Amy frightened, if it weren’t for Hope’s arm, she’s sure she would’ve crumpled onto the floor, her nerves are debating on whether or not she’ll run out of the house and back into the possibly locked car in the driveway.

“I’m Sarah,” She says, “But Hope probably has told you all about that.”

“Uh,” Amy lets out nervously, glancing back to Hope, who leaves her side to go remove her coat.

“Get in here Joe,” Sarah yells, “Hope brought a girl back.”

Sarah goes into the other room, and Hope turns back to Amy for a minute, pulling the fabric from her mouth to smile softly.

“Don’t be scared of em, they’re just family,” she says softly, before clearing her throat, “I can get your coat.”

Amy reaches up to unravel her scarf, slipping gloves from her hands to shove in corresponding coat pockets before unzipping the crimson jacket which was over her normal patched up jean jacket.

“Your siblings then?”

“Yeah,” Hope deadpans, “Not by choice if you ask me.”

“Better hope your hungry, mom’s cooking the turkey now,” a younger man pokes his head around a hallway arch to glance at the two.

“Where is Ma and Dad anyway?”

“In the kitchen dear!” a woman yells – evidently hearing the discussion.

“I want you all to meet Amy!” Hope yells, coming back to wrap the same arm around Amy again, pressing a small kiss against her forehead before rubbing the hand wrapped around the shorter girl’s shoulder across her upper arm.

“Hey,” Joe waves, “I’m Hope’s brother.”

“Yeah,” Hope shakes her head, “We’ve met you already. Go away.”

“Well,” Amy starts, “I kind of haven’t.”

“Yeah,” Joe adds, “Let her meet me. See? Someone wants to see me.”

“That’s a first,” Sarah shouts from the other room.

“Shut up!” Joe yells.

“Kids!” Hope’s mother calls, “Stop arguing, it’s thanksgiving for God sake.”

“Ma!” Hope yells, “I told you about Amy being a vegan, right?”

Something crashes onto the floor from where Amy guesses is Sarah’s kitchen with a loud clang, it causes Hope’s mother to swear, making Hope chuckle from where they stood.

“Yes dear!”

Sarah reapers from the hallway, Joe following soon after with a couple of board games, and setting them abruptly onto the glass coffee table, it earns a glare from Sarah before she takes a seat in a recliner.

They end up sitting down two, with Hope’s arm draped against the back of the cloth loveseat. Amy laying against her side.

They both know she’s nervous, but they don’t mention it.

“Hope told us you traveled last year?” Sarah asks.

“Yes,” Amy nods, “I just got back from Botswana, not too long ago.”

“Volunteer work,” Hope adds, “She was helping women.”

“Really?” Joe raises a brow, “Your one of _those_ people?”

“Joe,” Hope frowns, “She’s not one of _those_ people, she’s my girlfriend.”

“I was making tampons actually,” Amy interjects, her face heating up as she feels her nerves flare up, “There’s a lot of lions down there, so if you think about it, I was actually helping to save lives.”

“Well,” Sarah reaches over to tap her hand on Amy’s knee, “Good job out of you.”

Amy chuckles nervously, before looking away, gaze turning back to Joe who was playing on some handheld device on the matching couch, laying on his back with his socks extended off of the far arm.

“Joe,” Sarah says after a minute, “What do you think of Amy?”

“Yeah,” Joe murmurs, clearly uninterested in their conversation.

“Sorry,” Sarah looks back to Hope, “You know how he is.”

“Addicted to catching those Pokémon,” Hope jokes, and it makes Joe scoff.

“I’m playing _Mario Brothers_.”

“Same thing,” Sarah comments.

“Is not!”

Hope grabs a pillow from beside her spot, and chucks it at Joe, making him flinch as the pillow tumbles into the device, evidently dropping it onto his face.

Once Joe realizes what happened, he’s almost ready to chuck the pillow back at Hope, if not for an older woman, with oven mitts coming into the living room, with an exasperated sigh.

Her roots were greying, and if not for her evidently dyed hair, it would’ve been obvious that Hope and her were related.

“Joe,” she says, “I know you weren’t just going to throw that pillow at your sister now.”

“No mom.”

“Good,” she nods, turning to Hope and Amy, “Now, you must be the infamous Amy.”

Amy squeaks out a soft, “Yes.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you dear, Hope’s told us all about you.”

“Ma,” Hope groans, “Don’t do this.”

“She has,” Sarah turns to Amy, “I was getting sick of hearing about you, that’s why I moved down here to Maine.”

“No it’s not,” Hope raises a brow.

“Okay,” Sarah shrugs, “But it was one of the reasons.”

“Okay,” Hope’s mother clasps her hands together, “Who’s hungry?”

Everyone in the room immediately chants out a loud “ _Me_ ,” in unison that makes her grin.

“Alright then,” she says, “Your father is setting up the table.”

* * *

“Oh my God,” Amy says after a moment.

Hope’s currently driving on the interstate back to New York, and she looks over to Amy in the passenger seat before raising a brow, “What’s wrong?”

“I just realized I forgot my scarf,” Amy’s says, she’s about ready to fly off the handle in a panic. In all Amy’s fashion, of being perfect and completely consistent.

And apparently Hope realizes this too, because her gloved hand comes off of the steering wheel to grab Amy’s left hand.

“Hey,” she chants a few times, “Look at me, okay?”

“What?” Amy says, looking over to Hope as she glances between the road and her.

“It’s fine,” Hope says, “It’s just a scarf.”

“My grandma made that for my mom,” Amy says, “Then she gave it to me.”

“It’s just a scarf Amy,” Hope repeats, “I’ll just tell Sarah to mail it over to NYU, and I’ll get it back to you.”

“Okay,” Amy nods weakly, Hope glances over to Amy for a minute.

“That okay?”

“Yeah,” Amy says, “I guess so.”

“Okay,” Hope nods, extracting her hand to place back onto the wheel. 

“Okay,” Amy says.

* * *

_Oh, your sweet disposition and my wide-eyed gaze  
We're singing in the car, getting lost Upstate  
Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place  
And I can picture it after all these days  
  
_

* * *

Hope’s arm hangs out of the driver’s window, the brisk chill of fall making it’s way into her rusted Corolla, Amy’s staring out of the passenger window, map in her hands as they glance between the map and the road.

“You sure we need to turn right?”

“Yeah,” Amy murmurs, “That’s what this says anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

“Hope,” Amy frowns, “I’m going to literally an Ivy league. What makes you think I don’t know how to read a map?”

“Nothing,” Hope snorts softly, “I just remember when you got lost at Nick’s party with me, that’s all.”

“For God sake!” Amy whines, “Are you ever going to let me live that down?”

“Nope.”

The radio station changes to something that makes Hope immediately reach out to turn up the volume, evidently making her tighten her grip on the wheel before loosening it and sighing to herself.

“Atlantis Morssette?” Amy raises a brow.

The opening verse of “You Oughta Know,” blooms through the cab of the car, evidently making Hope look over before flashing her signature smile, making Amy shrug and laugh softly.

“You know the words, right?”

“No,” Amy lies, earning a laugh from Hope.

“I heard you literally sing it perfectly.”

“That was almost three years ago, I don’t know if I can,” Amy lies. She knew very well, Hope knew that she was lying out of her ass, but Hope just shrugs and starts to drum her fingers across the rim of the wheel to the rhythm, softly humming along to the words.

And somehow, before either of them know it, they both yell out the opening words of the chorus, Amy points to Hope for a minute, as the both meet each other’s gazes, yelling out the next verses and making an absolute ass of themselves to all onlookers.

But it didn’t matter because they knew what was going on.

They were sort of lost, but Amy wouldn’t trade it for the world being with anyone else in Upstate New York.

* * *

_And I know it's long gone  
And that magic's not here no more  
And I might be okay  
But I'm not fine at all_

* * *

She’s taken down the picture frames, evidently putting all of them in a single box in the back of her mind, and completely forgetting everything that was of Hope.

It was terrible, she hadn’t slept properly in ages, and she doubts things will ever be like they were before.

The last she heard, Hope had gotten her degree from NYU and moved back near Manhattan.

She on the other hand, stayed there. In their little apartment up in Queens, with her nine to five job and her bitter black coffees at eight AM.

She was a mess.

An _absolute_ mess.

Molly had said it herself, came to her side when she called her on the phone at three in the morning after Hope packed a single bag and left.

Out. _Poof_.

And maybe Amy feels like shit for being the instigator of that. Maybe she wishes she could just be fine.

Stopping this spineless smile that she draws on daily with lipstick, wider than her mouth, wider than her dreams.

But Amy still dreams though, because that’s the one place Hope hasn’t left yet. She still holds her like the first time, and kisses her like all the times before, and maybe that’s sick to think about, but Amy doesn’t know what else to do about it.

Perhaps it would be good if she saw someone, got some sort of medication, and cut up all the pictures in those frames.

_But she doesn’t want to._

Because maybe her self-control isn’t willing to let go of all of those memories, like the two AM talks, or the movie nights where they’d build a fort out of that worn vinyl couch in the living room, with their blowup bed, their extra set of sheets and Hope’s lavender scented candles.

She always scoffed when Hope insistently bought them.

And maybe Amy buys them now too… Because she wants to still pretend like Hope’s around.

Her old vintage jacket is buried in the back of their closet – rather, just hers now.

But Amy sleeps in it every now and again, she doesn’t tell anyone, sometimes she’d roll it into a ball and hold it up to her chest.

It comforts her.

Perhaps because it still has the rich smell of Hope’s body spray, or the feeling of Hope’s arms around her when she buries her nose into the collar.

But Amy doesn’t know what to do.

She misses those days, the ones where Hope was in them.

Ones where Hope would wake her up by burning toast in the kitchen, or laughing at _Friends_ reruns with her curled up beside her.

And maybe those times weren’t the best, but they were happy.

All Amy wants is for Hope to be happy.

But she isn’t happy, not unless she’s asleep.

It might all be okay, but she isn’t fine.

_Nothing is fine. Not at all._

* * *

_'Cause there we are again on that little town street  
You almost ran the red 'cause you were looking over at me  
Wind in my hair, I was there, I remember it all too well  
  
_

* * *

“You know,” Hope glances over to Amy, her signature amused smile crossing onto her lips as she looks back to the road, “I love you.”

The phrase immediately engraves itself into her memories, saving it for all the times that she ever desired to hear it again.

Repeating it inside of her mind, before laughing softly in disbelief, it earns a puzzled look from Hope from the driver’s seat.

“Do you find my love funny?”

“No, no,” Amy says, “the opposite.”

“Oh,” Hope says after a minute.

“I love you too,” Amy says, and it makes Hope look over, holding Amy’s gaze as she drives.

“You mean that?” Hope asks, and Amy looks to the road for a minute, there’s a streetlight approaching, and Amy doesn’t know if Hope knows, but she feels the nerves inflate in her chest as Hope looks to Amy’s gaze and shouts to herself.

The wind whips Amy’s hair forward, leaving it to pile over her eyes, scooping it away with both hands as Hope abruptly stops, nearly hitting the stopped car in front of them, and it earns an inevitable sigh of relief.

“Were you trying to kill us?” Amy says, looking to Hope.

“I guess your love is worth dying for after all,” Hope laughs softly, before clearing her throat and glancing back to the green light, “No actually, dying was not on the agenda for today.”

“Agenda?”

“I want to go to Central Park to take some pictures.”

“Oh,” Amy says, “Is that why you brought your camera.”

“I’ve got an assignment due soon for my photography class and I thought it would be a good idea.”

“It’s up to you,” Amy shrugs.

“You realize I’m going to be flat out taking pictures of you, right?” Hope grins, and it makes Amy’s face heat up quickly.

“Maybe.”

“God your so cute,” Hope murmurs, shaking her head and turning back to the road.

* * *

_Photo album on the counter, your cheeks were turning red  
You used to be a little kid with glasses in a twin sized bed  
And your mother's telling stories about you on a tee ball team  
You taught me 'bout your past, thinking your future was me  
  
_

* * *

“Oh I remember this one,” Hope points out, and Amy stares at the pictures of a miniature girl.

One she faintly recognized from her childhood, but Hope looked nothing like she did during the first day of preschool.

“Sweetie,” Hope’s mom says, “No you don’t.”

“No,” Hope looks up, shaking her head, “I totally do, you had just gotten me that banana seat bike that Dad’s got hanging up in the garage, and he just started riding it around the house.”

“But that doesn’t explain why she’s shirtless, and Joe has no pants,” Sarah points out, Joe looks up, clearly intrigued in something.

“Joe never had pants sweetheart.”

“Really?” Amy asks, “How come?”

“We just flat out couldn’t potty train him, I swear,” Hope’s father says, “You always found a way to yank your diaper off or just poop your pants.”

“Dad!”

“It’s true,” he says, “Hope had just shoved her face into her birthday cake and all Joe was doing was pretending to be ninjas with your other siblings.”

“But that included being shirtless?” Amy raises a brow.

“She threw up earlier in the day,” he shrugs, it earns an unamused expression from Hope.

“Great.”

“Oh,” Hope’s mother turns the page of the photo album, Hope’s standing on some field, baseball cap shadowing over her eyes, with a softball glove that’s way too big for her, established in her left hand, “Remember this one honey?”

“No,” Hope reaches out to turn the page, “I don’t want to look at those.”

Amy notices Hope’s face heating up quickly, “Why?”

“Oh,” Hope’s mother says, “She played softball for a good few years.”

“How come I’m just hearing of this now?” Amy laughs softly.

“People used to make fun of the fact that she chipped her tooth.”

“What?” Amy laughs, “Seriously?”

“I didn’t chip my tooth,” Hope corrects, “That Angela Webber threw a terrible pitch and whacked one of my front teeth out.”

Amy looks over to Hope, “I’m just hearing about that now?”

“I got stiches on the inside of my lip; my top lip was busted for a good month.”

“Didn’t you guys have helmets?” Amy asks, Hope scoffs.

“Only ones that didn’t have face shields, or just baseball caps.”

Hope’s mother turns the page and Joe jumps up to point to the picture, quickly yelling a quick insult that makes Hope frown.

“ _Nerd_.”

“Shut up,” Sarah says, “You had braces Joe.”

“She had glasses,” Joe shrugs, “ _Super_ nerd.”

“Okay,” Hope says, “To be fair, you could just leave if your going to be like this.”

“I _could_ ,” Joe laughs, “But I won’t.”

Hope sticks out her tongue and Sarah shakes her head, “Alright, and isn’t that Hope’s old bed?”

“Yeah,” Hope’s father says, “Oh, those days.”

“What days?” Amy asks.

“She really was into-“

Hope cuts Sarah off by clearing her throat obnoxiously, “ _Nope_.”

“Tell me,” Amy presses, Hope’s face is as red as a tomato by this point, clearly embarrassed by all mentions of this.

“She was really into _Clifford_.”

“Like as in _The_ _Big_ _Red_ _Dog_?” 

Sarah laughs softly, “That’s the one.”

“So embarrassing,” Hope groans, covering her eyes with her hands and leaning back into the couch.

* * *

_  
And I know it's long gone  
And there was nothing else I could do  
And I forget about you long enough  
To forget why I needed to_

* * *

Sometimes Amy thinks she hears Hope.

She’s usually half-awake, with the apartment completely dark.

But she thinks she hears Hope’s footsteps against the wooden floor.

Perhaps it’s the neighbors above her, but Amy swears she does sometimes.

It feels like everything was how it was back then, and it makes Amy sit up in bed, waiting for Hope’s face to veer itself around the doorframe with a glass of water, or with some sort of leftover takeout food from the night before.

And maybe Amy fabricates the smell a little too, but she closes her eyes, and somehow it seems to work better.

She finds the tall lanky shadow as it comes down the hallway, and she feels better.

Just for a minute.

Because once she opens her eyes, she remembers that Hope’s not there, and it’s just her again.

And she knows she’s been alone before, it’s been that way for a good two years, but Amy can’t get beside herself.

It’s killing her to know that perhaps this wasn’t actually something she could have for longer than she wanted.

It was devastating.

And that’s the time where she’d usually pad across the hardwood floor and dig through the pile of clothes at the bottom of her closet until she finds that jacket. The smell is far from it’s usual strength, but Amy doesn’t feel the need to go out and buy the same scent Hope wore.

That would be insanity.

But maybe Amy needs that.

Because Molly has called her that word countless times. She’s told her that she could do so much better than Hope, if she’d just try to go and meet some other girl.

Amy’s not good with being out, being with _other_ girls.

Hope was something, and everything else all felt grey and boring when she’d try it. Like the life before Hope was nothing, but it’s become beyond what nothing was without her.

And maybe Amy couldn’t live with herself if she went through forgetting about Hope.

That’s probably why she couldn’t bring herself to cut up those pictures, burn that jacket.

Because she still wanted to be with Hope.

She missed her, and maybe that’s what it was.

Maybe that’s all that Amy wants to call it.

Because sometimes at three AM squinting through the refrigerator light, she debates calling Hope, just to hear the voicemail message.

She never deleted their custom one.

The one where Hope says the words, _“I’m not currently here right now, I’m with my girlfriend. You know what to do.”_

The one where she giggles in the background, and somehow… in some way… the phone managed to pick it up.

And perhaps maybe Hope misses her too, and that’s one of the things that both keeps Amy awake and asleep most nights.

* * *

_'Cause there we are again in the middle of the night  
We're dancing around the kitchen in the refrigerator light  
Down the stairs, I was there, I remember it all too well, yeah  
  
_

* * *

The bed shifts, Amy feels it.

She hears Hope’s exhausted yawn and catches sight of the momentary stretch of limbs, the popping of twenty or so year old joints through the dim digital alarm clock light.

She feels the small kiss on her forehead.

The one that means that Hope thinks Amy won’t know about, but at the same time Amy does know. And she opens her eyes to watch Hope walk out of the small bedroom, yawning herself and slipping on some socks before finding Hope’s hazel eyes squinting through the refrigerator light.

Hope immediately knows she’s there.

She knows Amy better than most people.

Molly especially.

And she smiles fondly at her as she nears her, letting Amy’s arms wrap themselves around her stomach as she slips a half-eaten sub from the second shelf and turns around in Amy’s arms.

Amy half expects Hope to close the refrigerator, but she doesn’t, she sets the wrapped sandwich on the counter and lets her hands find the small of her back.

They sway for a few minutes, and it makes Amy want to giggle, almost as a joke.

But it’s not.

The clock on the microwave reads after one, and both of them need to be up by seven at least, six if Amy wants to shower.

She usually does.

But Amy finds herself wrapping her arms further around Hope’s back, burying her face in Hope’s NYU shirt as she hums some Frank Sinatra song.

By the end of it, Hope isn’t saying anything. They’re just swaying back in forth in the soft yellow light, with Amy’s socks covering Hope’s bare feet.

Because Hope always remembers that Amy can’t ever dance properly because she’s so utterly clumsy.

And maybe Hope finds that adorable, just like the rest of her.

Amy thinks she hears Hope murmur something into her hair, with Hope’s chin resting on top of her scalp, and she can feel herself become further in love with every passing second.

* * *

_Well, maybe we got lost in translation, maybe I asked for too much  
But maybe this thing was a masterpiece 'til you tore it all up  
Running scared, I was there, I remember it all too well_

* * *

“What do you mean?” Hope says, she stands at the foot of the bed, there’s something hidden underneath her expression, it speaks of hurt, and Amy can’t tell if it’s something that should scare her.

“I mean,” Amy says, “I don’t know if I want to get married Hope.”

“Well,” Hope frowns, evidently distraught by their conversation.

It had been one that was being discussed throughout the week, Amy’s parents asked over some Skype call, and now Hope hasn’t quit asking.

“Well, what?” Amy says, “I’m sorry that we don’t want to do something that you want Hope.”

Hope scoffs, shaking her head, “No Amy, it’s not that at all.”

“Tell me then,” Amy frowns, “Because maybe I don’t want to be married to someone who bitches at me for answers when I don’t have them.”

The words hang in the air like dark clouds, and it suffocates the both of them the longer they stay. Hope stays silent, and Amy can almost make out her lip quivering despite the noticeable indent to her cheek as she bites it.

“Maybe I should just go.”

“Hope,” Amy says, but Hope’s already got some duffle bag on their bed, “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“No Amy,” Hope looks up, “But it _is_ what you said, and the fact that you said that is why I should leave.”

Hope shoves things into it, and Amy doesn’t pay attention to them, her gaze just stares at Hope while she shifts around the room.

“I’m sorry,” Amy murmurs, watching as Hope slings the bag over her neck with an unimpressed expression, the same one she’s flashed her their whole upbringing.

“No Amy,” Hope shakes her head, “I’m sorry for expecting anything more than this.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Does it really matter?” Hope asks, “Because I really don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

“Fine,” Amy says, “Leave then. It’s not going to change the fact that I still love you.”

“Don’t follow me,” Hope says, unfastening the copied key from the ring and throwing it onto the bed.

Amy stares at it for a minute, listening to Hope’s feet as they stomp across the wood, the deadbolt unlatches, and Amy can faintly hear what almost sounds like the first signs of Hope crying.

And just like that, the front door slams shut, and Amy’s left there to wonder what happened.

* * *

_  
Hey, you call me up again just to break me like a promise  
So casually cruel in the name of being honest  
I'm a crumpled up piece of paper lying here  
'Cause I remember it all, all, all... too well_

* * *

It’s two in the morning when Amy hears her phone vibrate against her nightstand, she’s barely awake, but she reaches for it, the unknown number.

And it’s Hope’s raspy voice, on the other line, Hope’s slurred uninhibited voice that makes Amy bolt upright in a frazzled hazy.

_“I still miss you. You know?”_

And Amy can’t help but stay silent, listening to the liquid swish on the other line, because Hope’s talking for her.

_“But I fucking hate you for breaking me. I hate you for what you did, and despite everything, I still wish I could go back in time to be with you again.”_

If Amy weren’t crying, she was now, and she has to shove the corner of the sheet so far into her mouth to keep her quiet, it tastes terrible, but she’d do almost anything to hear Hope’s voice.

_“And I know you you’ve probably wondered why I’m calling you, but it’s because I just can’t take it anymore Amy. I can’t take knowing that you’re not ever going to be mine.”_

_“We had something truly perfect.”_

_“And maybe this might be the last time I’ll ever call you, because I just can’t live in the past anymore, and I know you shouldn’t either.”_

_“But I love you, and I want you to know that. And I know now that I won’t ever stop. It’s physically impossible for me to stop.”_

_“I wanted to call you one last time. Mainly to tell you that I’m mailing you your stuff back. I can’t stand looking at your shirt anymore. Before, I took it because I thought it’d make me feel better, but it didn’t. It just fucking makes me miss you more. And I hate that.”_

_“I hate myself for that.”_

_“I fucking hate that I still love you.”_

The line clicks dead after that, and Amy’s just left to just picture the sight of Hope, trying to remember what it exactly felt like to see her face.

And it’s hard… because Amy almost doesn’t want to remember.

It seems so far away.

Two years away.

But she makes herself.

She goes into the living room and finds a photo that Hope took of them laying in the grass in Central Park one afternoon, and it makes Amy remember about how Hope was always trying to be sentimental about those sorts of things.

Always wanting to take pictures, always telling her to smile at the old Polaroid camera that her parents got her as a graduation present.

And even when she covered her eyes, or told Hope to stop it, she’d still do it anyway.

Half the pictures are of her in the middle of laughing at Hope anyway.

But Hope’s got their hands laced together, and she remembers that day so well.

It was the day before they were set to start classes, Hope took them to go have some sort of picnic thing.

But it wasn’t really a picnic, Hope just wanted an excuse to look at her from the corner of her eye as they stared at clouds.

She remembers it all too well, and she wishes she didn’t, curling herself into a ball on the wooden floor, hugging the picture to her chest she sighs to herself.

Maybe it’s masochistic of her to try to hold onto this, maybe it’s unhealthy.

But Amy just wants to. She wants to be there, she wants to feel like Hope’s still around, like she never left.

And maybe every time she closes her eyes, she can pretend she hasn’t.

Staring at the ceiling of the living room, she tries to pull herself up. But her mind doesn’t compute, she just lays there. Thinking.

Thinking of all the good and bad things, thinking of the fights, of the passion, of everything.

About how she ran up to Hope at the airport when she returned back to LA, and Hope scooped her up like a doll, spinning her around in her arms. Even though she only expected a hug.

She’d almost tackled her to the ground actually, now that she’s thinking of it.

But they laughed, and laughed.

But mainly cried.

They were happy.

And Amy wishes that maybe Hope could see her now.

Because she isn’t who she was after Botswana, not the girl from high school.

She just wishes that maybe she was stronger, strong enough to let this go.

* * *

_Time won't fly, it's like I'm paralyzed by it  
I'd like to be my old self again, but I'm still trying to find it  
After plaid shirt days and nights when you made me your own  
Now you mail back my things and I walk home alone  
  
_

* * *

There’s a knock at her door after six.

Amy’s sitting on their couch, watching some weather forecast, and staring blankly at the man on the screen as he explained the cloudy skies for the next few days. She’s got some flannel on, and she doesn’t remember, but she sits, curled up on the couch’s arm, listening.

And her eyes become focused when the screen shifts back to the woman, a news story in the top right hand of the screen.

Hope’s dull expression, with the caption of what Amy thinks is her eyes fooling her.

_‘Youngest woman to receive photography award.’_

And maybe the knock startles her, she flicks off the TV and slowly gets up, she leaves the lights off, mostly just sitting in the dark.

The hallway light shines on a small box outside of her door, it’s folded shut, and it has Hope’s messy cursive written across the top of it.

There’s no shipping label, nothing apart from her name.

Meaning Hope was just there, that she dropped it off herself.

And Amy doesn’t know why, but that brings her some sort of comfort, standing there in just her underwear and a long flannel.

She thinks back to what Hope meant by her stuff, thinks back to what she could’ve had.

What Amy was missing.

Then the memory of thanksgiving pops into her head, about them going to Maine to meet her older sister, and accidentally leaving her scarf there.

And she pulls open the box to reveal an oversize Columbia T-shirt, and a burnt CD.

She wasn’t ever one to do illegal things, but Hope somehow changed that sometimes.

Tucked in the case is a slip of paper, laminated with packaging tape.

It’s tapered, and Amy remembers it.

The paper that Hope gave her after graduation, before she left for Botswana.

The same joke is written in blue ink at the bottom under a LA area coded phone number.

_‘I hope you don’t miss me like you did at Nick’s party.’_

And maybe Amy debates cutting it up and throwing it away, because she’s tired of missing Hope.

Her hands search into the box further, and there’s nothing else.

Just those two items, and it makes Amy curse to herself.

Winter was coming, and so much for family heirlooms

* * *

_  
But you keep my old scarf from that very first week  
'Cause it reminds you of innocence and it smells like me  
You can't get rid of it 'cause you remember it all too well, yeah  
  
_

* * *

Amy doesn’t know why, but she feels hurt.

The wind whips her hair around her face as her feet connect with every step, guiding her back to their small apartment complex.

She didn’t feel like buying a car, she didn’t feel like doing anything really.

But God, she wishes she had her scarf.

The brisk air bites her cheeks until they’re flushed pink, her nose stark red against the pale snow that lines the sidewalk. And it throws her for a loop.

Because she wonders why Hope keeps it.

Hope didn’t want to live in the past anymore, yet here she was keeping the only thing Amy ever cared about that she had.

She wasn’t one to be upset at these sorts of things, but sometimes you just can’t feel anything else but how you just perceive things in general.

Amy doesn’t think that it’s because Hope has some grudge against her, no.

She found an engagement ring in the back of her closet a few days ago, and she hasn’t thought much more about it other than it was what it was.

Hope wanted to be married. To be hers entirely.

And maybe now, Amy wants that too.

She’s been having dreams about it, what it’d be like.

To see her when she’d wake up, and to fall asleep next to her.

But maybe she doesn’t like the thought of being in the nonexistent future.

She still wishes that Hope could be with her again, wishes that she’d have the lights on whenever she’d unlock their apartment door, and there would be food on the counter.

And they’d sit on their couch, talking about their days, and potentially go out onto the balcony and watch the sunset.

Amy wonders what happened, who she was.

Why Hope left her to be like this.

She hasn’t heard anything from Hope, but she’s called Molly practically hourly to get through the rest of her shifts.

Molly is usually busy though, but Amy still leaves messages.

All of them ending in _“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”_

And maybe for a second Amy thinks that Hope kept her scarf as some sort of token, some judgement call that regarded her own feelings.

But she doesn’t want to think that’s the case, even if Hope still loved her.

She couldn’t handle knowing what it all meant anyway.

It was something that kept Amy awake most nights.

Dreaming about finding Hope’s apartment and knocking on her door to tell her that she was sorry,

And most times, Hope would slam the door in her face.

But she kept her scarf, she knew that Hope cared about her.

They had memories, their hearts were so intertwined, and yet here she was again.

Coming home to a dark apartment, the one they shared many firsts in.

And maybe that night Amy sleeps in just Hope’s jacket on their couch, with the lights off and the heater on full blast.

Because she doesn’t want to remember it anymore.

It always comes back in echoes, and always seems to leave her in pieces.

And Amy isn’t herself whenever she sees Hope’s mentally fabricated face every time she closes her eyes.

* * *

_'Cause there we are again, when I loved you so  
Back before you lost the one real thing you've ever known  
It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well  
  
_

* * *

Hope drives her to work, makes her breakfast and always packs it in a grocery sack.

It’s always covering a lunch beneath it.

Hope cares, and maybe Amy likes to think that potentially they could be together more than what is reasonable. But maybe it’s the little things, like when Amy falls asleep on the couch, that make Hope’s actions seem detailed and all the more fond of her.

The part where Hope would sometimes make herself fall asleep if Amy ended up asleep first on the couch, or when they would watch a movie, how Hope would make judgment calls about the character’s motives, or dirty jokes about their lines.

Even when they would turn the sound off, she would sometimes imitate a voice and Amy would sometimes too, if she wasn’t already laughing.

And they’d act out some vulgar conversation for two soap opera characters.

Or that one time when Hope and her fought about something as pointless as an anniversary present, and somehow they wound up making out in the pouring rain.

Amy loves her, and everything she does, and sometimes she’ll think about everything.

It’s all like a movie that plays on repeat in the back of her mind, in terms of how Amy wanted to feel about Hope.

Back before Hope lost her, back before Amy lost the reality of Hope.

Back before it all seemed pointless to believe that this could ever happen, before she was staring into Hope’s eyes, wet with chlorine laced water, and her nerves rattling beneath her unknown alcoholic strength.

But Amy categorizes Hope.

She’s no longer a faint face in the back of her mind, it’s just the color red.

_Hope is red._

And it seems silly when Amy admits it to herself, but the color reminds her of Hope somehow.

If memory serves her right, red locks some sort of meaning of passion, maybe of poison in some circumstances.

But Amy doesn’t think of Hope as poisonous, she thinks of her with some form of guilt and regret.

She knew Hope loved her, and Amy loved her too.

So at three AM on a whim, when she’s leaning against the bathtub on the ensuite floor, she dials the number again.

She’s got an empty bottle of red wine in her hands, and she likes to think that it’s some sort of sign that the bottle wound up like this.

_It’s red._

And Amy doesn’t know what to say, but she says it.

She’s drunk, but sober enough to know that she’s rambling on to Hope’s voicemail.

The same one of Hope’s voice and her giggling in the background.

It starts of with her telling Hope about how she knows that she probably hates her, but she wishes that somehow she’d come back to tell her that maybe it’s going to be okay again.

Because Amy wants it all to be okay, she wants to be okay with Hope.

Not this fake dream where she leaves, over and over again.

And maybe she swears at Hope for being a coward about feelings.

Maybe she tells Hope she wants her scarf back, and maybe she tells her about sleeping in her jacket.

But she doesn’t tell her about how low it’s been for the past few years, she doesn’t tell her about the dreams.

Perhaps she should’ve, because maybe it’d give Hope some perception into her own thoughts again.

Amy tells her about the walks around Central Park, just to see if she was around.

Seeing her award on the news.

But she’s drunk enough to somehow say _“I love you”_ before she hangs up, lulling her head back, she takes the last drink before letting the bottle rest against her thigh, and just sits there.

It seems like hours, but she doesn’t really care about time anymore.

Because she feels like she’s staring Hope straight in the eyes in the dark bathroom, and for a second, she believes she sees the shape of her lips in the lit screen of her phone.

But she isn’t there.

Amy knows that, but she believes it.

And for a second she actually is.

Hope’s telling her that she loves her too.

And then it’s just dark, and Amy can’t see anything anymore.

She’s just stuck there listening to the sound of her breathing as it echoes off of the walls.

* * *

_Wind in my hair, you were there, you remember it all  
Down the stairs, you were there, you remember it all  
It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well_

* * *

There’s a second where she second guesses her hearing capabilities.

But when she opens the front door, Hope’s standing there.

She’s out of breath, and her eyes are bloodshot.

And for a second Amy just wishes she’d wake up because she can’t take waking up alone anymore.

But Hope’s standing there, her clothes are wet.

Amy doesn’t realize that it must’ve rained, or perhaps the weatherman predicted it wrong, but Hope’s there.

Or Amy thinks she is.

Because as soon as Amy moves to shut it, Hope grabs the door to stop her.

And she pushes it back, and holds her phone to Amy’s eyes, and says the words that Amy remembers to this day.

_“I want to come back home.”_

Amy has to give herself a minute, because Hope’s coming into the living room and pulling her into a hug that leaves her breathless.

She smells of lavender.

And Amy knows.

_She knows._

It’s not a dream anymore.

_Because Hope remembers it too._

And if it wasn’t for Hope’s arms, she would’ve fallen onto the wooden floor in a sobbing mess.

Because Hope’s there.

And Amy knows deep down, she won’t leave again.

It’s no longer red.

It’s just Hope again.

And the movie stops, because they’re out of film, and it moves onto a part two that involves Amy proposing to Hope with the ring Hope bought for her.

And Hope says yes, and they have some sort of big firework filled movie moment where Hope scoops her up and carries her to Amy’s room – their room again, and they make love for what feels is the first time in whatever long it was without it.

And Amy forgets about everything before.

Because Hope loves her, and half way through, she breaks down crying.

Begging for Hope not to leave her again.

And Hope ends up doing it too.

Because Hope can’t ever stop herself from crying whenever Amy cries.

But she takes Amy’s hand and places it over her heart, and looks her in the eyes and promises that she won’t ever again.

And for the first time after two years, Amy doesn’t wake up without Hope.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to yell at me about how much you feel attacked by this... i'm already crying silently to the song.
> 
> if you don't love "all too well" we can't be friends.
> 
> state of grace should be next... or 22... whatever i finish first... all i know is that i'm writing one-shots for the entirety of the red album. deluxe edition obviously...


End file.
